


Always and Only

by Tenoko1



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Changing Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), Changing Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Vulnerability, F/M, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23044333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1
Summary: Crowley's loved Aziraphale since the beginning.Sure, Crowley admitted his love frequently, but it had always been under the guise of teasing, of maintaining their cover story for a mission, never said in seriousness lest it get them killed.Even still.Aziraphale knew. He had to. Crowley was an excellent liar, save for when it was the angel. It had only gotten worse since The Apocalypse That Wasn’t. All Crowley’s apprehension had thrown itself out the window, an elegant swan dive into an empty cement pool, his self-preservation going right along with it. It was why he kept catching himself-- or getting caught-- just… staring at Aziraphale, memorizing the lines of his face, his profile, the way rays of the sun would illuminate Aziraphale’s hair. And Crowley was left smiling and boneless, warmth in his chest like a purring cat, curled in a ball with no intention of leaving.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 348
Collections: Good Omens (Complete works)





	Always and Only

**Author's Note:**

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> 

“Have you very far to travel?” asked the woman on the mule, material draped around her shoulders and over her head.

Crowley looked down at her own dark clothing, sure the neutral color of the woman’s clothing was considerably cooler than Crowley’s. Then again, she was riding a mule. Crowley was stuck walking. The other woman was definitely cooler.

Earlier, Crowley had all but decided to shift into a snake and find a cool outcrop to lie under until the sun sank below the horizon. She’d been looking for such a place when Aziraphale came trotting along on a white horse-- literally, at a trot, like he was trying to get to Crowley as quickly as possible. Come to her _ressscue_. Face both delighted and concerned.

Were it anyone but Aziraphale, Crowley would have thought the delight at her expense, but Crowley knew Aziraphale too well for that.

Crowley smiled up at the woman, glad she didn't ask why neither of them was riding the horse Aziraphale led by the reins. “No, just onto the next city. I never could stay in one place for long.”

“I suppose that will be changing,” offered the woman's husband from the bench of their cart, the back of it laden down with personal belongings and merchandise. The man nodded his head to Aziraphale. “Now that you’ve married and have reason to put away your mourning clothes.”

Aziraphale made an inarticulate stammering noise.

“Oh, yes,” demurred Crowley, grin sliding into place. “Our meeting was such _lovely good fortune_ on my part-- though, I doubt I’ll ever give up wearing black.”

Aziraphale gave her a cross look for not correcting them, but who was Crowley to pass up a temptation so utterly inviting?

The woman leaned down, a wide grin on her features. “So unexpected, I would think! To find love again, someone to ease your grieving heart.”

“You are so right,” Crowley purred, slipping her arm through Aziraphale’s as though proudly introducing her bridegroom. “Sssuch an unexpected-- nay, _ineffable--_ first meeting.” Aziraphale hmphed and looked away, but Crowley didn’t miss the blush darkening his fair complexion. “It was love at first sight.”

A bark of laughter boomed out of the man while his wife tilted her head with a bemused smile. “‘Love at first sight,’” she repeated, tasting the words. She grinned. “What an unusual and lovely expression. I like it. It’s very romantic.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat, tugging at his collar. “Crowley has a clever tongue and a flair for dramatizing. We did meet by accident, but, um, I-I was actually in a state of upset. That day… uh, did not go according to plan. It was not so fanciful as Crowley would describe it.” Aziraphale turned his head to look at him. “I’m afraid I made a rather terrible first impression.”

Crowley’s smile widened, sharp and mischievous. “I said what I said, angel. Love. at. first. sight.”

Aziraphale fussed with the front of her bodice, wringing her folding fan as much as she used it. Her plush mouth was set in a pout when Crowley glanced over his shoulder.

They’d tucked themselves away in the hedges, Crowley’s lithe form pressed to the greenery as he eyed the garden party they’d procured an invitation to since their targets would be conveniently in the same place.

Aziraphale’s brow was wrinkled. “I don’t see why we couldn’t _both_ be gentlemen for this assignment. This is _most_ uncomfortable. I want _out_ of this horrid thing.”

Crowley pivoted, target forgotten and gloved hands reaching for her before he caught himself, snatching them back. “Is your corset too tight?” Crowley had thought Aziraphale’s anxiety was _nerves_ rather than _pain_. “Angel, you should have said something,” he insisted, tugging his gloves off with his teeth.

Aziraphale covered his hand with hers. “No, no, no. Thank you, my dear, but no.” Her smile was unsteady but warm. “I-I… I only meant, well…” she fluttered her fingers, clarifying nothing for Crowley, “all of it, really.”

“The _whole_ dress is uncomfortable?”

Crowley was going to kill a seamstress. Burn the entire shop to the ground. He’d had the dress commissioned for Aziraphale, paying an extravagant amount to ensure it was a paragon. To be less than perfect for the angel was an unforgivable sin if there ever was one.

Aziraphale laughed, cheeks rosy and mirth dancing in sky blue eyes. “ _No_ , Crowley, but your concern for my well-being is touching.”

She blushed pink and turned her face away as she gestured, a vertical sweep of her hand that drew the eye to her bodice and wide skirts. She was exquisite, from the softness of her features to the curves of her body and bossom. The lush cream-colored fabric with elaborate gold embroidery and lace.

Crowley thought she looked divine. He wished he knew how to paint, immortalize the very sight of her. But art could never do her justice. Still, he longed for something tangible to remember Aziraphale by. A way to see him when missions kept them apart and Crowley's chest ached with homesickness. Crowley didn't know how a person could feel like home, but what was 'home' other than the one place you always wanted to run back to?

Aziraphale cleared her throat, her face a deep red now. “It’s more an issue with modesty...? I'm not as used to this form as you are. And, well… I must look _ridiculous_.” She huffed, expression put out. “Crowley, I look like a _fat hen_ in a _bodice_ and _curls_.”

He took her hand in both of his, stopping her anxious fluttering. He held her hand to his chest. “Aziraphale... you look _beautiful_. You are nothing less than magnificent.” Blue eyes and thick lashes swivelled up to his face, mouth twisted and uncertain. Crowley brought her hand to his lips, a kiss to her gloved fingers as light as the brush of a feather. Their eyes met, and he grinned. “If you’re worried about _tempting_ everyone at this party, well… consider them _inspired_ to emulate your angelic splendour and benevolence. You’ll make them want to be _better people_ , angel. Real feather in your wing, there.”

Aziraphale flushed and slid her gaze away, squeezing Crowley’s fingers. When she looked at him, her expression was openly, painfully fond, sending Crowley’s heart crashing against his sternum. “You can be utterly charming when you want to be.”

“I am being sincere,” he murmured, grin sliding into place.

Even he couldn’t tell if it sounded teasing or honest, too many years of habit making it drip.

Biting her lip, Aziraphale glanced around the hedge. “I am not practised in the social graces of this society, Crowley. I’ve been much further east for a while.”

“My darling angel, you’ll be _fine_. Observe and then emulate. Same song, different verse.”

“Please don’t let me make a spectacle of myself.”

“ _Angel_ ,” he purred, putting her hand into the crook of his arm, “how could I _possibly_ be embarrassed by my lovely bride?” She flicked open her fan as they stepped past the hedge and into the lavish garden party. “You give them too much credit and underestimate yourself, Aziraphale. The privileged never cease to underestimate a pretty face and a quiet tongue. Silence doesn’t mean you don’t see and hear _everything_. Didn’t the Lord say pride goeth before a _fall_ , angel? You’re doing God’s work, and a fine job of it.”

Glint in her eyes, Aziraphale grinned up at him, an expression Crowley found himself returning. “We make a rather dangerous duo, you and I,” she said.

“Indeed. We should do it more often. Think of the _fun_.”

A man noticed them and grinned, removing himself from a small group. “Speak of the devil!” he exclaimed, laughing in delight as he and Crowley greeted one another. “Good to see you! When I heard you’d suddenly _married_ after your last visit, I thought perhaps you wouldn't make it.” He laughed again, eyes bright and nose wrinkling. Aziraphale marvelled at the fondness so clear on his face and in his voice. “My, my, _my_ , Lord Crowley, the man as charming as the devil himself, for once, getting _his_ heart stolen? Tch. What is the world coming to?”

Crowley grinned wide, hand sliding around Aziraphale’s waist to draw her closer. “Can you blame me? How could I not fall in love with such an angel? Our meeting was nothing if not _fated_.” His gaze slid to Aziraphale’s. “It was, after all, love at first sight.”

The air of the club was thick with cigarette smoke as Crowley came down the wooden stairs covered with a plush, red runner.

The smoke hung like a cloud over the tables men sat around. No women, of course. Not as guests, anyway. They were only ever on stage as entertainment or weaving between tables serving drinks and inspiring many a sin.

Crowley nearly laughed. Con men. Organized crime. Crooked politicians. Weapons dealers. Adult entertainment executives. All of them in a box they’d built themselves and filled with poison, self-inflicted slow death under the banner of prestige.

Oh, Crowley _loved_ humans. So clever. So _conceited_ and _self-serving_. So prone to _self-destruction._ Crowley could sit back and watch them do all the work for him.

His gaze swept the room, visibility hindered by his dark shades, the dim lighting, and the plume of smoke like a fog he had to navigate through.

Even though he could scarcely see, Crowley’s feet moved with purpose through the din, like muscle memory leading him down a well-worn path straight to home.

They had a circular booth in the corner, and Crowley did smile then.

Surrounded by dark wood and rich velvet, the entire club a sensuous palette of vice and sin around him, Aziraphale glowed like the early morning rays of the sun, all cream, white, and gold chasing away the darkness.

Crowley had to give it to the angel, he always could fill in for business transactions when Crowley was out of town.

There were three men situated on one side of the booth, with Aziraphale sitting opposite.

It was clear Aziraphale was the one controlling the meeting, his expression cold, expectant, and _bored_. He lounged against the crimson velvet cushions, idly twisting the gold ring on his pinkie. Clearly, the other men had not kept their end of the deal, and religious or not, there was no prayer that could save them when there was Hell to pay.

As much fun as it was getting to see Aziraphale filling in for him on a devil’s bargain, Crowley much preferred _his_ Aziraphale. An unconscious smile softening the lines of his face.

“ _Angel_ ,” greeted Crowley, hands spread as four heads turned his direction. His grin was wide and sharp. “Sorry I’m late.”

Aziraphale blinked at him, brows coming together as the cold persona slipped. “You’re back early. Did everything go alright?”

“Splendid,” he said, gesturing for Aziraphale to slide further into the booth so Crowley could sit beside him. He slung his arm over Aziraphale’s shoulders as he dropped into a comfortable sprawl. “I was just eager to get home.” He turned his grin into a promise of destruction as he turned to the other men. “Gentlemen. I see you’ve met my husband--”

“ _Husband_ ,” the one in the middle said, brows vanishing into the shadows of his hat.

Crowley’s smile widened. “That’s what I said.”

Aziraphale didn’t react or correct him. Perhaps it was what was needed. Crowley was well-known and feared in the criminal world, but a married couple ruling the empire? There was no stopping that.

Crowley’s grin stretched wider, teeth flashing.

The man stammered. “I-I didn’t realize. I thought he was… a business partner.”

Aziraphale’s tone was cold and cutting as slick ice. “I did tell you I speak for him, did I not?”

Crowley shrugged. “He _is_ my partner. Partner in business. Crime. _Life_. How could it be any other way?” He turned to smile fondly at Aziraphale. “It was love at first sight.”

(art by [@SabineSMASH](https://twitter.com/SabineSMASH) on Twitter)

It was by and large the single _most ridiculous_ thing Crowley had ever seen in Aziraphale’s bookshop. Or, well, the front window.

It was a cardboard display that dominated the window, its massive glittering hearts and looping calligraphy reminding everyone it was Valentine’s Day.

_It’s the month celebrating true love! A time to express your devotion with chocolates and gifts (which you won’t find here)-- gifts such as books! (Which you also won’t find here, but they are for sale just a few short blocks away!)_

Aziraphale had helpfully provided a precise map, complete with an arrow and star.

_‘’Express your love with something **truly** special._

_(And there’s always ice cream and movies if it doesn’t work out_

_\--which you also won’t find here.)’_

Crowley’s fist tightened, plastic crinkling around the bundle of wrapped stems.

God and Fate were undoubtedly _rolling_ with laughter.

He dropped his gaze to the bouquet and the lovely box of truffles tied with a ribbon. His face heated, shoulders hunching up around his ears. He had a sudden understanding of what it must be like to be on stage as the gag in somebody else’s joke.

Sucking in a sharp breath, jaw jutted to the side, Crowley considered the window display. Humiliation, defeat, and staggering heartbreak hit him all at once, eyes welling unexpectedly.

He was pathetic. Really and truly pathetic. There he was chasing Aziraphale around the globe like some love-struck darling. Six thousand years of friendship and carefully reigned in hope, watching for any sign that Crowley wasn’t alone in this hell he lived in.

Now, there was a fucking display, big as the window itself, screaming what he was searching for he wouldn’t find there.

 _Take a fucking hint, Crowley,_ Fate seemed to say. _Stop flogging a dead horse. It’s over. He doesn't love you.  
_

It was a hard truth Crowley wanted to keep denying so he could hold onto hope. The elephant in the room was large enough to crush him, but he'd refused to acknowledge it. Instead, Crowley stuck his head in the sand and his ass in the air. Ever more the fool.

What was a demon to do with all those feelings he wasn't supposed to have-- love, protectiveness, blessed fucking hopeless devotion. Demons weren't supposed to be able to feel those things, and certainly not for an angel. Crowley'd had no idea what to do with them other than stuff them down.

Sure, Crowley admitted his love frequently, but it had always been under the guise of teasing, of maintaining their cover story for a mission. He never said it seriously, even if he meant it.

Still.

Aziraphale knew. He had to. Crowley was an excellent liar, save for when it was the angel. It had only gotten worse since The Apocalypse That Wasn’t. All Crowley’s apprehension had thrown itself out the window, an elegant swan dive into an empty cement pool, his self-preservation going right along with it. It was why he kept catching himself-- or getting caught-- just… staring at Aziraphale, memorizing the lines of his face, his profile, the way rays of the sun would illuminate Aziraphale’s hair. And Crowley was left smiling and boneless, warmth in his chest like a purring cat, curled in a ball with no intention of leaving.

It wasn’t like Crowley had wasted his time brooding and pining like a Gothic Victorian hero. He had put himself out there, had none-too-subtly followed the angel around the globe like a lovesick fool, coming to his rescue, inviting him to lunch-- hell, the only reason Shakespeare had a career was because of Crowley. Anything to see the way Aziraphale’s face would light with uncontained happiness and joy.

Crowley had asked him to run away to the stars with him. Was willing to abandon Earth to its fate just so long as Aziraphale was beside him.

Crowley had offered for Aziraphale to move in with him after the shop burned down.

And for every flirtation, every wink, every time he got caught staring, had all but spilled out feelings like water from a broken vase… Crowey had also gotten shut down.

It may not have been harsh, slap-in-the-face refusals like the day in the bandstand-- when Crowley had been blindsided-- but it was still rejection. Soft words meant to turn him down gently. It came in the form of blushing and looking away, changing the subject, words with layered meaning.

‘ _You go too fast for me, Crowley_.’ Those words had echoed inside Crowley’s head for days. Spent weeks crawling under his skin, digging out a gaping maw behind his sternum.

Yet he still hadn’t learned.

_‘You can stay with me, if you like.’_

_‘Oh, I don’t think my side would like that.’_

_‘You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side.’_

Aziraphale hadn’t responded. At the time, Crowley thought it was shock, grief over losing his beloved bookshop and eleven years of accumulated stress that had reached its apex.

Perhaps it had only been another gentle rejection. Perhaps the reason Aziraphale allowed Crowley to take his hand, to pull Aziraphale onto the bench beside him on the bus-- to hold Aziraphale’s hand-- was because he’d thought Crowley was trying to comfort him.

Crowley had been trying to comfort Aziraphale, but he’d also been comforting himself. He’d wanted Aziraphale beside him for the ride-- like they always had been as they walked through life. He’d wanted the angel’s hand in his, a reminder he had not lost Aziraphale forever.

Now, Crowley blinked, slow and deliberate, eyes refocusing on the garish window display.

Her ways would never make sense to him. Not ever.

‘Ineffable’ Aziraphale always said.

Crowley thought ‘cruel’ was a better word.

Movement caught his eye, and his gaze slid to the side and through the glass.

Aziraphale stood by a shelf, duster in hand, and a complicated expression morphing his features. Fretful worry combined with confusion like he’d gotten in a shipment of books only to discover none of them were first editions.

Crowley inclined his head in greeting, planning to turn on his heel and leave, but Aziraphale moved, mouth opening and hand up, but stopping like words were stuck to his tongue.

Swallowing, Aziraphale motioned Crowley inside. Pensive. Concerned.

Oh, yeah, Crowley thought. God was definitely laughing at him.

The door to the shop unlocked at his touch and then locked behind him. Crowley ventured no further inside, feeling the angel’s eyes on him. Crowley didn’t look in his direction.

“Alright there, angel?”

The pause was too large, misshapen and stretched out like an old sweater.

“...Crowley, are you alright?”

“Perfect. Why do you ask?”

“You were just… so lost in thought, i-is all. I felt… um, well, I felt _you_. Despondency and grief, but found… I found you. ...I _still_ feel it,” he added, voice gentle, cautious. Like he didn’t want to _spook_ Crowley. Or like he was disarming a bomb. Aziraphale’s blue eyes swept over Crowley from head-to-toe, stopping abruptly at the bouquet he held. The chocolates. Aziraphale blinked. “Oh. I-I didn’t realize…”

Crowley kept his gaze on the tassels of the threadbare rug. “Didn’t realize _what_ , angel?”

Didn’t realize he’d caught Crowley red-handed? That Crowley was two seconds away from tossing the flowers and chocolates in the nearest bin and drinking himself into a stupor, before crawling into bed to let sleep nurse his wounds?

How many times could a heart break before there was nothing left to put back together?

Aziraphale twisted the duster, shifting and sliding his gaze away. “Well… t-that you… had s-someone, I suppose--”

“I _don’t_.”

Aziraphale’s face jerked up, hand to mouth. “Oh, Crowley… I’m so sorry.”

And he _meant_ it, condolences in the face of unhappy events.

Oh, yeah. God was _cackling_.

A biting laugh escaped Crowley, his head falling back with a wolf’s jagged grin. “I didn’t get _rejected_ on Valentine’s Day, angel.”

Aziraphale’s relief was palpable, his hand falling to his chest as he breathed out a sigh.

Crowley wished Aziraphale’s expression held something besides pity.

What would it be like? Aziraphale as jealous over Crowley as he was his books?

Aziraphale tilted his head, expression guarded. “If not that… then _what_ has you so unhappy?”

Crowley heaved a sigh, smile falling like discarded rubbish as he pivoted for the till. He was so blessed fucking tired. Skip the drink, he only wanted his bed. “Bad day. I just got lost in thought, that’s all.” He raised the flowers, then dropped them beside the register. “These are for you, by the way. Thought you might like a cheery pop of color in the shop, maybe on the counter. And I know how you like sweets. The fancier, the better.”

Aziraphale's mouth drew into a tight smile, muscle movement rather than emotion. His body language was… _reluctant_ as he closed the space between them.

Crowley tried to laugh, get things back on track to just another day, but the grin he threw over his shoulder was too bitter to be teasing. “Would you be jealous if I’d _had_ a valentine, angel?”

Aziraphale’s steps faltered like the skipped beat of a heart.

Crowley backpedalled, raising his hands and falling back a step, toward the door. “Sorry. Don’t know why I said that. Bad mood, bad joke. Look, I’m _really_ not good company right now. That was…” Aziraphale brushed past him. “I-I didn’t mean--”

“Maybe.”

Crowley blinked, the world falling still and distant around him. He stared at Aziraphale’s back, mind blanking out. Surely he’d heard wrong. “... _sorry_?”

By the till, Aziraphale fiddled with a stack of invoices and receipts. “Bad joke of my own,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Crowley wondered how blood could rush in his ears when his heart had stopped beating. He wondered how he could feel light-headed when he didn’t need to breathe. Wondered at the sense he was falling, or outside his body watching this happen to someone else.

“No,” Crowley spat, index finger raised. “ _No_. I _Fell_ for asking too many questions and _not_ getting any answers.” Crowley yanked Aziraphale around by the shoulder, his back smacking into the counter. For a second-- a fraction of a second-- Crowley saw fear pass through Aziraphale’s eyes. Swallowing, Crowley released him in a show of hands, voice a low rasp, “ _What_ did you say?” Blue eyes sliding away; Aziraphale’s mouth ticked up at the corners, unsteady and forced, the way he did when embarrassed and trying to deflect. Crowley shook his head once. “ _Don’t_ tease me, angel. _What. Did you. Say_?”

It came out raw. Vulnerable. Like a cracked open chest exposing a still-beating heart.

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek-- worried, anxious-- as if Aziraphale didn’t know he could eviscerate Crowley, could unmake him as violently as planetary destruction.

Maybe he didn’t.

Blue eyes flicked to Crowley’s face, then down, fiddling with his fingers. “...I-I said…” He swallowed. “I said ‘ _maybe_.’”

“But… but you just… Angel, two seconds ago you thought I’d been _dumped_ on Valentine’s Day!”

“You being _rejected_ is not the same as you.... you _wining_ and _dining_ someone,” Aziraphale huffed, shooting Crowley a defensive look. “What _you_ do and what happens _to you_ are two different things.”

“That doesn’t even make sense! And the only person I wine _or_ dine is _you_ , angel,” Crowley shot back.

That brought Aziraphale up short. He jerked, narrowing his eyes. “It makes _perfect_ sense, Crowley. You’re--” His mouth clicked shut through force of will, biting back whatever he was going to say.

“What?” Crowley demanded. Aziraphale tore his gaze away. “I’m _what_ , Aziraphale?”

“ _You_ ,” he glared.

“Sorry, going to need you to be a _bit more_ specific. The Serpent of Eden? A demon? Unforgivable bastard and scoundrel? Guilty on all counts, I’m afraid. Thought we’d moved past it.”

“You are being _intentionally_ obtuse--”

“I am trying to be certain I’m not being cruelly _mocked_ ,” Crowley barked, teeth bared on the last words.

Aziraphale paled like Crowley had struck him. The silence that settled was damn near suffocating.

Lowering his eyes, Aziraphale twisted his fingers. “You’re… well, you’re unbearably and undeniably _charming_ , Crowley. Y-you’re _beautiful_. Cunning. Clever. I’ve seen you work an entire room and have them eating out of the palm of your hand. You’ve seduced monarchs and commoners alike, tempted the faithful, planted doubt and questions where there had never been any. I’ve seen empires fall and lives ruined as people abandoned their safe, reliable worlds because chasing your love was too great a temptation.” His face was as red as it was vulnerable and… and even a little wounded. "It would make perfect sense for you to... to be with someone. To go on dates and--"

“Doing _my job_ is not the same as _caring_ about someone, angel--”

“You don’t have to _care_ to have a-a… _rendezvous_ with someone. To _use_ them and let them _use you_.”

“ _I don’t work for Hell anymore_ , remember?”

“Humans don’t work for _either_ side, and they choose to use each other _all_ the time! How am I to know if you’re having _another_ meaningless affair or if you’d come to _love_ someone?” Aziraphale snapped, shoving Crowley backward and moving to stand with the bookshelves at his back. “You come in-- _on Valentine's Day_ \-- carrying flowers and chocolates you pass off to me while emoting heartbreak and grief like a blaring siren! You! Beautiful, clever, charming, _s-swaggering_ you! _Of course_ I thought you had someone! Why _wouldn’t_ you?”

“They were _for you,_ angel!”

Crossing his arms, Aziraphale’s jaw jutted to the side. “You know very well _what_ I mean and in what _way_.”

“You literally caught me as I was about to _leave_ , Aziraphale. Toss them in the nearest bin and drink myself into a coma,” he snapped, stepping toward the door. That coma sounded better by the second. “I would _never_ give you a gift _meant for someone else_. Some… some random _human_? _Really_? _You_ are the only person I _ever_ give gifts to, Aziraphale. The only person I take to dinner or on what could be called dates. You're the only blessed person I _want_ on Valentine’s Day.”

Aziraphale looked confused like Crowley had not only turned the page of their conversation but jumped ahead to an entirely different chapter, leaving Aziraphale scrambling to catch up and keep up. “Surely, I’m not…” Crowley lifted a brow. “Oh. You mean that.”

“Give the angel a prize. Ssssix thousand years and still reigning champ of rejection. _Forgive me_ if I came to my sssssenses and wasn’t going to sssubject myself to it _yet again_ ,” Crowley hissed meanly, spreading his arms and bending at the waist in a mock bow. He straightened and sneered, eyes raking over Aziraphale. “And the _nerve_ of you, angel. Gonna dangle a carrot in my face only _after_ you thought I’d _found--_ and been _cast off_ by-- _someone else_? _You_ don’t want me, but _no one else_ can have me either, is that it? Heaven’s cruel, Aziraphale; I didn’t think you were.”

Crowley turned for the door.

“Crowley, wait! Please!”

“Sod off.”

“I-I didn’t… Crowley, I didn’t--”

Crowley’s hand was on the knob before he spun, teeth bared and his voice as chilling and quiet as midnight snowfall. “Didn’t _what_ , angel? Didn’t _mean_ it? ‘Oh, I’m sorry for my bit of teasing, let’s go back to the way things were’?’”

Aziraphale was pale, hands curled to his chest and eyes so wide there was more white than blue. He swallowed. “I didn’t know.”

A breathy laugh punched out of Crowley, his shoulders shaking with the distinctly hissing sound. “Didn’t _know_? Oh, Aziraphale you are funny. _I_ am the one who came up with the Arrangement. _I_ am the one who always comes to your aid; who seeks _you_ out. The one who goes _too fast_ for you. _I_ am the one who said we should raise Warlock together. _I_ am the one who asked you to _run away with me_. The one who offered for you to move in when we thought your shop was gone. And _I_ ,” he snarled, “am the one who was destroyed and fucking _gave up_ when I thought you were dead. _But you didn’t **know**?_ Aziraphale, you can _sense_ love. Hell’s sake, I’m the one who fucking coined _‘love at first sight,’_ but _you ‘didn’t_ _know_?’” He snorted and yanked the door open, disgust overriding his anger as he stormed out. “Have a nice life, Mr. Fell.”

The sharp bite of the cold seemed fitting. The dreariness that met him outside. Grey cement and grey walls, dirty snow trampled underfoot and shoved to the sides of the path.

The shop’s bell didn’t ring behind Crowley.

Aziraphale shot forward, not letting the door close between them. He stood holding it open and gripping the side of it as though it were the only thing keeping him up or holding him back. “Maybe I just can’t feel your love,” he exclaimed. “We’re not supposed to be able to feel these things, remember? Your side. Mine. I always…”

Crowley stood in the middle of the walkway, back to the shop and Aziraphale, flexing and clenching his fingers, trying and failing to force his ragged breathing to calm. “Always _what_ , angel?”

Biting his bottom lip, Aziraphale lowered his eyes. “I always thought it was one more way I was broken.”

“Broken,” Crowley repeated. He looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “You aren’t broken, Aziraphale.”

“I’m a _terrible_ angel, Crowley,” Aziraphale countered. “You know that. I’m hapless, incompetent, need to ‘lose the gut’--”

Ice and grit ground into the pavement as Crowley turned on his heel. “ _Who_ told you _that_?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter _who_. I was meant to do my job and take pride only in accomplishing what I’d been sent here for. I wasn’t supposed to want t-to protect humanity from Heaven. I wasn’t supposed to care or get attached--”

“I don’t see how that makes you _broken_.”

“I’m the only angel who _does_ , Crowley. I love them and this world. I love _selfishly_ ,” he insisted, his expression like the most fragile of glass. “...I love _you_ selfishly.”

“Conveniently realized.”

“I wasn’t being _cruel_ , Crowley! Until Germany, I didn’t know if I could _touch_ you without hurting you, for God’s sake--”

“Don’t bring Her into this--”

“I was afraid!” Aziraphale nearly shouted. “Afraid of-of Heaven and the other angels, afraid of Falling, afraid of endangering you, afraid of what you’d do if you ever found out--”

“What exactly did you imagine happening? What? Thought I’d be angry? That I’d turn and walk away?”

Aziraphale’s throat bobbed, and he looked away. “...I thought you’d laugh. That hurt more than the idea of making you angry.”

Shaking his head, Crowley spread his arms. “How have I failed you that you’d even entertain the possibility I’d hurt you?”

“I didn’t say it was _rational_ \-- it made more sense than the alternative!”

Crowley shoved his hands into his hair, dragging his nails over his scalp. “Satan, spare me. What is it you _see_ when I look at you?”

“Your glasses, for starters,” snapped Aziraphale.

Crowley snatched them off his face and tossed them into the street as he advanced toward the bookshop’s entrance. “And every time I came to your rescue? Invited you to dinner? Showed up with _wine_ or _opera tickets_? What did you see _then_? Hell figured it out before the French Revolution, Aziraphale, what the fuck took _you_ so long?”

“I’ve never known you to be any other way, Crowley,” Aziraphale pleaded. “How was I to know when you deviated from pattern?”

“You can _sense love_ , Aziraphale!” Crowley said again. “For Hell’s sake, I have _not_ been subtle! What did you want? Me to rip out my heart to give you as a present? Whoring myself out for the sake of assignments never bothered you, but thinking I cared for someone else _spurned you to action_?”

Aziraphale looked wounded. “I’ve lied to God and Heaven but I’ve _never_ lied to you, Crowley.”

“You said-- _you_ said-- you sensed my emotions and were worried,” Crowley challenged, one brow sweeping high as he struggled to hold onto that anger he felt beginning to crumble like an old stone wall. Momentum could only carry you so far. “But you can’t feel them any other time? What? Stars aligned just right this time?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Maybe I can’t sense your love just as you can’t sense mine.”

“I can’t sense love because I’m a _demon_ , Aziraphale. It was stripped from us when we were cast down.”

“And fear was instilled into us every day since then,” he countered. “I wasn’t _mocking_ you, Crowley. I never would. And I _was_ worried, you were… well, you were _in mourning_. I expected to find a bereaved parent or spouse outside, _not you_. And, yes! I would be jealous over you, _horribly_ jealous. I'd be heartsick with the knowledge, and for the first time, I didn’t have to be afraid to admit I wished it was me! I didn’t think you’d _believe_ me, I just wanted to say it!”

“Then say it!”

Aziraphale blinked, a line forming between his brows. “What?”

There were only a few times in his existence Crowley had ever felt genuine fear, had experienced that sickening and horrifying realization there would be no going back, no way to undo the past and steer things onto a new course.

Before, though, it was always something that caught him off guard, an unexpected, near-fatal strike that ploughed into him from his blindside and left him broken and shattered, too shocked and traumatized to be immediately angry.

He’d never willingly put himself in such a position. Not before Aziraphale.

Crowley’s knees were locked in place, his every muscle straining, braced for collision in an effort to protect the vulnerable bits keeping him alive and breathing.

A wasted effort when Crowley was the one jumping in front of the oncoming train.

Crowley curled his hands into fists, clenched them so hard they creaked.

“ _Say. It_ ,” Crowley repeated.

He hated the way his heart leapt in his chest. Vain, foolish hope couldn’t stop a train or reverse time.

Well, he decided, if he couldn’t stop his destruction, what choice was there but run headlong into the pain this time?

“Fuck it,” he said, his long legs propelling him forward, across the short distance and up the steps.

Aziraphale moved to retreat, blue eyes vaulting around, but there was nowhere to go with the other door behind him. “I--”

“ _Shut up. Just shut up,_ ” Crowley growled, grabbing fistfuls of Aziraphale jacket and holding him in place as Crowley captured Aziraphale’s mouth with his own.

Fuck destiny or ineffability. God didn’t care what they did. And Crowley was already damned. No matter what happened in the future, he’d have this, though. This moment, and the kiss he stole.

He'd have the memory of Aziraphale’s soft gasp against his lips, the way his tension melted when Crowley softened the kiss, his shaking hands trailing from Aziraphale’s coat to cradle his face.

Aziraphale sighed his name, hands settling on Crowley’s hips as he leaned into the kiss, kissing back and tugged Crowley _closer_ instead of pushing him _away_.

Pain-- or joy, maybe-- crashed into Crowley, a reservoir of feelings held back too long finally breaking free and erupting through him.

Crowley broke the kiss, a wet, disbelieving laugh punching out of him and making his eyes water and sting. His legs threatened to buckle beneath him. Clamping his eyes shut, Crowley pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's. He tried to remember how to _breathe._ His chest was so tight, his gasping breaths a shaky and fragile thing.

“Don’t cry,” Aziraphale whispered, now taking Crowley’s face, brushing his thumbs and lips against Crowley’s cheek where the wetness continued to fall. “Please, don’t cry.”

He would if he could, if he knew how to not feel broken apart and brand new as millennia after millennia of yearning refused to be held at bay.

“Six thousand years, Aziraphale,” he gasped, voice small, reedy, hands clenching Aziraphale’s lapels as the angel pressed his lips to Crowley’s cheek, his eyelids and damp lashes. “I thought God would damn me a second time for it--”

“Sshh,” Aziraphale soothed, drawing Crowley back in so their foreheads were touching. “It’s alright. We’re here now. We’re here. I never dared hope for this, either. That I’d get to love you. To _say_ I love you.”

Another stifled half-sob broke free of Crowley’s chest. It all felt like too much to contain now. How had he ever held it all back? There was so, so much. How could he feel broken and like he were flying at the same time? Why did he want to laugh _and_ cry? How could he be swept away by relief when suddenly overtaken by memories of being irreparably heartsick through the years?

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” Crowley rasped as he lifted his head to finally look at Aziraphale. “How _long_ I’ve loved you?” He blinked, dislodging the tears hanging precariously to his lashes. “It was _love at first sight_ , angel. I have _loved you_ from the moment I _met_ you. Loved you for _six thousand_ years.”

Aziraphale turned his head, lifting Crowley’s hand and pressing a kiss into his palm, their eyes locked on each other's. “Do you think you’d be willing to love me for another six thousand?”

Another shaking, wet laugh bubbled out of Crowley, and he drew Aziraphale in, brushing their mouths together. “Six thousand years. Six million. It will always be you, angel. Always and _only_ you.”

And it would. For that Valentine’s Day and every one after.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

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